


The Deserter

by mountainsbeyondmountains



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Queen in the North, honestly this is how I would prefer winds of winter (the book) to go down, there's a slim possibility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:19:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountainsbeyondmountains/pseuds/mountainsbeyondmountains
Summary: Desertion of the Night's Watch is punishable by death.





	The Deserter

They tried to burn his body but he remained untouched, like a stone. Or so he's been told. All Jon remembers is waking up in the embers, breathing in smoke, without so much as a scorch mark on him. The fire didn't sear away the scars of the attack that killed him, though. They say it killed him, at least. But here he lives, only to die again. Waiting in a cell for the Queen's justice. 

"Which Queen?" Jon asks. 

The men he once believed to be his brothers only laugh. "Queen of Winter," they say. "There's no hope for you, bastard. She's a murderess that ever lived."

***

The Red Keep was always full of Varys' little birds, but Sansa finds the actual creatures to be more effective. They don't betray anyone, they don't care about love or blood or gold, they're only birds. But they can fly, and venture places people can't. All Sansa needs to do is slip her skin. It's how she keeps people astounded with her far reaching knowledge of everything in her kingdom. How she knew of Stannis' defeat before anyone in the Vale did. How she knew the Hound lived. How she knew Littlefinger was responsible for her father's death. How she knew her brothers were hidden far north, and her sister to the east. 

She takes the form of an owl, and swoops down to the prison in Castle Black. Her half-brother is trapped there, awaiting word from her. She listens to the mutterings of the men who guard him. "It isn't right. It isn't natural." "He shouldn't be alive." "He's one of them. He's a wight." "Why are we hesitating? Kill him now."

She decides to ride north. 

***

Jon remembers the day his father beheaded the deserter. Back in summer. Years ago, a lifetime ago. He thought the man mad, whispering of white walkers. And now the legends bear down on them. Jon hopes this gruesome queen of winter knows how to cut cold, as Tormund said once. 

Jon finds himself thinking often of Arya. It was for his sister he had deserted, and still he couldn't save her. The girl in grey, approaching the wall.

***

"Your Grace, you can't save him," Lady Brienne advises. "Desertion of the Night's Watch is punishable by death. It's the old way. There's nothing you can do."

"I can hear his last words," Sansa replies. "I owe him that." 

***

The men are growing appetent. If they don't see him dead soon, this time for good, there may be another mutiny. Jon just hopes whoever wields the sword has a steady, clean hand. He doesn't want to live to see the Wall tumble down.

***

It's been close to a moon's turn, and Sansa insists they ride in the night now. This time she won't allow what she wants to get away from her.  _It would be so sweet to see him again._ Only she could save him, and in turn, only he could save the north. So to the old gods she prays, and she ignores the bite of cold to press forward. Lady Brienne warns that if she keeps riding the horse so hard, she'll kill the poor thing. Better it than her brother. 

***

He doesn't resist as they haul him outside with rough hands, push him down so he kneels on the ground. They hold him in place as if they fear he'll escape somehow. "Jon Snow, as punishment for deserting the Night's Watch and forsaking your vows, I sentence you to die."

He's not afraid. He's already conquered this enemy. He knows death is like sleep. He knows it's nothing at all. Jon lowers his head and waits for the sound, the sigh of the sword slicing through the winter air as it falls. But instead he hears the clamor of approaching horses, horns, a cry to halt. He dares glance up. First he sees the heaving horse. It won't live through the night. Then he sees her grey cloak, embroidered with the Stark sigil- Sansa always did love to sew. The gold crown, firm among the flames of her lucky Tully hair. Her face, so stern, so like their father's. 

The men of the night's watch all bow down, falling over themselves in the presence of the wardeness of the north. Jon would join them, but he's already prone. Sansa says, "And what is this?"

"My Lady-"

"I am your queen."

"Your Grace, he deserted the Night's Watch. We're only carrying out your justice."

"I told you to wait for my justice. Besides, hasn't he already paid for his crimes?" Sansa stared down any who dared look her in the eye. "I pardon this man of all wrongdoing. None are to touch him."

She slides off her horse unaided. Jon wonders when she grew so fierce. Maybe he's mistaken, maybe this isn't the girl he called sister. After all, they were barely that, he barely knew her. But then she lowers herself to kneel in the grime beside him, caresses his cheek, circles him in her arms. She smells like summer, like Winterfell, like lemons and home. "Let's get you out of these chains," she murmurs, and he replies:

"Your Grace."

"Lord Commander."

"Not any longer."

"Then I'm only Sansa."

"Sansa, I swear my sword to you. My life to you. I'm yours to command." One pair of shackles for another, but now he's willing. 

***

Jon can see through Ghost's eyes, and she can see through the birds, but for once Sansa does not want to look away from what's in front of her.

 


End file.
